The Journey of the Movement
by DarkeFairie
Summary: A series of short stories about the #believeinSherlock movement, and how the way in which one person spreads it affects others, and how it comes a full circle. Can be read individually or as chapters of one long story.
1. Prologue

John. Lauren. Andrew. Carter. Kitty. Paul. Anya.

Names on a page. But behind each name lies a story. And these stories are all linked by three words.

Believe in Sherlock.

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**A/N: The inspiration for this story comes from here: ibelieveinSherlockHolmes. blogspot. co. uk (no spaces)**

**Hope you like it :)**


	2. Chapter One

John Watson had almost given up reading the newspapers. Every day he would scan through them, searching for an article, no matter how small, that would prove he wasn't the only one who believed in him. In Sherlock. Just reading his name made John want to cry or shoot something. Preferably both. He turned over the last page and threw the paper onto the ever growing discarded pile, from which many headlines screamed out; none of which John wanted to read.

Sighing, he stood up and went to make a cup of tea, limping as he went. He'd convinced himself he didn't need his stick back, but in the eight months since Sherlock, his limp had returned with a vengeance. He knew exactly what Sherlock would say about it, but Sherlock wasn't here, so John tried his very hardest to avoid thinking about it.

He made his tea and limped back to his chair, the pile of newspapers catching his eye as he did so. 'Sherlock a fake.' 'Fraudlock Holmes!' 'Suicide of fake genius.' They made him so angry. Not angry that they'd printed the lies, he knew what the media were like. Not angry that people believed them, he knew how manipulative Moriarty could be. But angry that he couldn't DO anything!

He sat down and sipped his tea, pointedly averting his gaze from the offending headlines. As he did so, his eyes fell upon his laptop and he suddenly sat up straight. Maybe, just maybe, there was something he could do.

He dragged his laptop over and sat contemplating his idea as it powered up, his forgotten tea going cold. John opened up the blog he hadn't touched in eight months and began to type.

'He was my best friend and I will always believe in him.'


	3. Chapter Two

Lauren picked her badge up out of the puddle and carefully wiped it clean again on her school jumper. She pinned the grey badge with three words on it back onto her blazer, making sure it was clearly visible.

Three words, yet they'd already caused her so much trouble. Believe in Sherlock. She got down on her knees and began to gather her scattered possessions, fighting back tears as she reminded herself this was far less than what her hero was going through.

She'd always been interested in crime, so it hadn't taken her long to find Sherlock Holmes' website, 'the science of deduction', and from that moment on she had followed the detective's every case, mainly through Dr John Watson's blog. She'd followed the Richard Brook/Moriarty scandal religiously, and didn't believe a word of it. Sherlock's suicide had devastated her, but deep down she still believed he'd survived, even if the rest of the world deemed it impossible.

She'd thought it was such a good idea. Spread the word, convince others that Sherlock wasn't a liar and that Moriarty was real. She'd started putting up post-it notes around school. Nothing too obvious; on a couple of lockers, in the corner of notice boards, on mirrors in the bathrooms... All with a simple message. 'Richard Brook is a fraud.' 'Moriarty was real'. 'Believe in Sherlock'.

People soon realised it was her and it hadn't taken long for the abuse to start. Just little things at first, teasing and sarcastic comments written on her post-its. But it soon escalated into verbal abuse, cyber bullying, and now physical violence. People thought she was strange, deluded, different. And different wasn't allowed.

As she sat alone on her bus home, she started to consider giving up. She wanted so much to stand up for the man who had become her hero, but she just felt so alone. She pulled out her phone and opened up John's blog, as she had done every day for the past eight months. Even he seemed to believe that Sherlock really was dead. Maybe he even believed Richard Brook's lies. Nothing new had been posted on his blog for eight months.

Except today was different.

Lauren opened up the new post with her heart racing. Her eyes read the text several times before her mind understood what she was reading. 'He was my best friend and I will always believe in him'. Smiling and filled with a new sense of determination, she reached into her bag for a pen and a set of post-its, now knowing she wasn't alone.

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**A/N: Thanks for reading guys :D I hope you like it!**

**The inspiration for Lauren in this chapter comes from my friend HazelSherlock, as she was teased through high school for her slight Sherlock obsession.  
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**I'd love it if you could review my story, it would be much appreciated 3**


	4. Chapter Three

Andrew Jenkins sighed and turned the radio on. After a long day teaching ICT to high school pupils followed by a tedious staff meeting, traffic was the last thing he needed. All he wanted was to collapse on the sofa with a cup of coffee, but it looked like he'd be stuck in his car for another couple of hours.

Turning the radio up a bit more and attempting to tune out the sound of horns blaring, his thoughts turned to his day at work. Just an average day really. Well, except for the meeting he'd had at lunchtime, that had been curious.

That morning he'd noticed that one of the pupils in his tutor group had received a warning for 'defacing school property'. He'd been surprised, Lauren had always been the perfect student; conscientious, hardworking, if a little shy. So he'd called her in for a chat.

He'd been at first surprised, and then intrigued by what he's heard from her. She freely admitted to the 'defacing' she was accused of, though it turned out to just be a few sticky notes. But it was _why_ she'd done it that his mind turned to. He remembered her eyes lighting up as she explained and the passion in her voice.

Believe in Sherlock. Andrew had followed the case in the papers with a mild interest, but had soon forgotten about it. Just another nobody willing to do whatever it took to be a somebody. But, what if he wasn't? What if there was something more to it all?

As he crept along the motorway, Andrew began to wonder. What if the message on those post-its was right? His analytical mind ran through the implications. If Sherlock was the brilliant detective he had claimed to be, then that meant he was right about Richard Brook. Which meant Brook was actually Moriarty. Which meant Moriarty was a criminal. Which meant…?

By the time Andrew finally reached his front door, his mind was whirring. Abandoning all thoughts of the sofa and coffee, he made his way to his study and powered up his computer. Opening his favourite forum, he logged in and clicked 'new topic', where in the title box he slowly typed 'Calling anyone who believes in Sherlock Holmes…'


	5. Chapter Four

Harry glanced at the clock on the wall, 8.02am, and the store didn't open until 9. Perfect. He slumped behind the comic store's counter and began to browse the internet, talking to his fellow gamers and searching for anything of interest. He would rather have loaded up Team Fortress 2, but he was already on his final warning from management, so he'd have to be content with browsing the forums.

It was about half an hour before he found anything of interest. It was the topic that caught his eye, 'Calling anyone who believes in Sherlock Holmes…' Sherlock Holmes. Harry recognised the name immediately. He'd always loved a good old conspiracy, so the whole Sherlock saga had been right up his street.

It wasn't unusual for Harry and his online friends to discuss the news (well, mainly any conspiracies or hidden meanings behind it) so they'd pretty much exhausted the Sherlock/Moriarty topic in the half a year afterwards. Especially his fellow D.I.E members. (Detect, Investigate, Expose – a group of 'conspiracy obsessed paranoid freak' as they fondly referred to themselves.) Everyone else he knew either believed Sherlock was a fake or had come up with a theory so weird and unbelievable even Harry had laughed. Yet Harry always thought there was something… off, about it all. He'd thought convincing everyone Sherlock was a fake would have been a pretty good way for Moriarty to get rid of him, but had soon dismissed that though as a mad theory of his conspiracy fixated mind.

Harry opened up the topic. His eyes widened as he read the posts. If he'd read them anywhere else he would have laughed, but there were so many, and the difference in writing styles indicated such a wide range of ages, backgrounds, education. Each and every post conveyed such passion and sincerity, Harry felt compelled to keep reading. What was written varied each time, but always the same common theme. Sherlock _was_ telling the truth! Richard Brook _is_ Moriarty! This was _all Moriarty's plan_! And most shockingly, _Sherlock is still alive_! Every post ended with the same four words. I believe in Sherlock.

One of the posts contained an external link, and Harry opened it, curious. It led him to a collection of what he assumed were posters, each shouting out the 'truth' about Sherlock Holmes. One in particular caught his eye, a striking black and white image of the man himself with 'I believe in Sherlock Holmes' boldly repeated in the background. Casting his eye over the clock on the wall and noting he still had ten minutes until he had to open up, Harry sent the image to the printer. Grabbing some blue tack from his desk, he walked over and proudly stuck the poster in the shop window, not caring if his manager wouldn't like it, just wanting to do his bit for the man he was now convinced had told the truth.


	6. Chapter Five

Carter Wilson kicked an empty can, his hands in his pockets, and watched it bounce down the street. He felt his shoulder collide with one of the few other pedestrians, and was vaguely aware of being shouted at, but right now he couldn't care less.

It was that stupid poster in that silly comic store that had put him in such a foul mood. Believe in Sherlock; it was a joke. People thought they were making a difference. They weren't. One little poster, that was an attempt at getting attention, trying to stand out of the crowd, making them feel good about themselves. None of them knew anything about Sherlock Holmes except what they'd read in the papers, none of them had ever met him or spoken to him.

But Carter had. Several times. Carter had been part of the detective's 'homeless network' and had gained more money and food collecting information for Mr Holmes than he'd ever had before. But he didn't do it for the money.

Sherlock Holmes wasn't the most sociable person, in fact the words 'sociable' and 'Sherlock' didn't even belong in the same sentence, yet Carter had more respect for the man than anyone else. He was one of the very few people who could see beneath the scruffy exterior and see the useful, bright boy beneath. And he had never once looked down on Carter or treated him as inferior.

Carter clenched his fists as he caught sight of another believe in Sherlock poster. Making a difference, yeah right. If only they knew what _could_ be done…

Carter smiled as he remembered the day after the news of Sherlock's death broke. That night, armed with a can of red spray paint, he had made his way to The Sun HQ, more specifically the windows of the offices newly belonging to Kitty Riley. They didn't look so nice with 'LIAR' scrawled across them.

Of course, Kitty had turned the event into an article, the police had been called but hadn't been able to do much, and the writing had soon disappeared. However, that wasn't the only site of Carter's work. The knowledge he had gathered while working for Mr Holmes had given Carter a range of places he knew he would be able to spray where it would be clearly visible but wouldn't be cleaned off. And tonight he was off to his next destination.

A can of paint in his pocket, yellow this time, Carter made his way to a train track on the outskirts of the city. Once there, he followed it northwards until he found what he'd been looking for; a long, brightly lit tunnel not far from the station. Glancing at his battered, second-hand watch and noting he had plenty of time (working for Mr Holmes had also given him an intimate knowledge of train times) Carter jumped down and made his way along the track a little, before pulling himself up on the small ledge next to the tunnel wall. Pulling out his can of spray paint, he quickly got to work, smiling at the irony of what he was about to write. By the time the next train passed, Carter Wilson had disappeared and left nothing but the words 'Believe in Sherlock' in his place.

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**A/N: Sorry for the delay guys, I've been away for the past week. The good news is it gave me chance to write lots :D **

**Thanks to everyone who reviewed!**


	7. Chapter Six

Kitty Burke scoured her brain for an idea as she sat down on the train that would take her home. In two months it would be exactly one year since her hero, the detective Sherlock Holmes, had jumped from St Bart's Hospital, and she was determined to mark the occasion. She'd seen the various things on the internet and the posters dotted around, had even put some up herself, but she wanted to do something bigger, better that would reach more people. The only question was; what? It had to be a fitting testimony; she owed her life to this man.

Just over four years ago, aged 13, Kitty and her younger brother Clive had accompanied their mother when she had visited Sherlock Holmes with suspicions Kitty's step-father was involved in something illegal. Strange packages had been arriving daily for which no explanation would be given. Sherlock had managed to prove that her step-father was involved in both drug smuggling and people trafficking, and the police had arrived just in time to prevent him beating his wife and step-daughter to death.

So now Kitty was determined to mark the occasion. She'd toyed with a few ideas but nothing seemed big enough, she wanted to reach as many people as possible.

Kitty was gazing out of the window as the train, approaching the station, slowed down slightly, when something caught her eye. Quick as a flash, she pulled out her phone, and by the time the train arrived at the station she was examining the photo she had just taken. It was what she thought. The picture was blurry, but she could just make it out. Bright yellow letters screaming from the tunnel walls. 'Believe in Sherlock'.

As Kitty stared at the photo, an idea began to form. With the help of her best friend Jessamine, who was a keen photographer, and her IT wiz boyfriend Nate, it was possible. She'd have to start straight way though. Smiling, she dialled Jess' number.

Exactly two months later, Kitty stood behind one of several tables outside St Bart's Hospital. Every table was piled high with t-shirts, each with the same photograph printed on the front, the yellow letters clearly visible. Behind Kitty and the three others helping her, Jessamine, Nate and Clive, three huge posters had been pinned up; the first of Sherlock Holmes, the last of Moriarty, and the middle one, the biggest, the same photo as on the t-shirts. Yellow letters screaming 'Believe in Sherlock' from a tunnel wall.

Kitty looked at the gathering crowd, which was growing each minute as people came to see what the fuss was about. As she took a break from explaining the Believe in Sherlock movement, trying to convince people and giving out free t-shirts to restock her table, she felt arms around her. She turned to see Nate smiling at her. Kissing her, he bent down and whispered in her ear, 'Watson would be proud of you.'

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**A/N: Credit for the characters and t-shirt stall in this chapter go to hazelsherlock with her story Sherlock's Flower, so I all recommend you go read it!**


	8. Chapter Seven

Anya Martin needed a story. She'd been working for a national newspaper for nearly a year, and all she'd done was make tea, photocopy things, and write one column articles about things no one was interested in, like the old woman she'd interviewed last week who'd found a winning lottery ticket in her washing machine. Though it turned out she'd only won a tenner.

So here she was, wandering round London, determined to find a story the editor simply couldn't ignore. Something that would kick start her career and get her out of the kitchen. The only problem was, she'd been walking for hours and hadn't found a single thing. This was _London_ for goodness sake, there was _always_ something happening! Except when you needed it too.

Sighing, Anya decided to take a break and grab some coffee. And maybe some cake too, cake always made things better. Ten minutes later she was sat in the window of Starbucks, drinking her five sugars coffee and munching a caramel slice. Glancing down at her reporter's notebook, she sighed again. It was supposed to be full of shorthand notes that would lead to an amazing article. Instead, it was full of scribbles and doodles of hearts and stars.

"And I only went along for the free t-shirt, but I got talking to this guy there, Nate, and it blew my mind. All that stuff about that Sherlock dude…"

A snippet of the conversation next to her caught Anya's attention. Sherlock? That guy had been in the papers about a year ago, just before she started working for one. He was a fraud or something? He hadn't been mentioned in months though. If this was something new, this could be the story she'd been waiting for! She listened closer.

"…man, they were right. It all made sense. And now I'm proud to belong to the believe in Sherlock movement. Yeah, cool, see you later" The man hung up and put his phone back in his pocket.

"Excuse me?" The man, he must have been about 19, turned and smiled at her. "I couldn't help but overhear, and I'm curious. What is this believe in Sherlock movement you mentioned?"

"Paul." He held out his hand and she shook it. "I don't know much about it myself, only heard about it the other day. But, you heard about that Sherlock guy right? The 'fake' detective who threw himself off St Bart's? Well, there's a group of people, quite a lot I suspect, who believe he wasn't a fake, and, get this, that he's still alive!"

"Really?" Anya pulled out her notebook and pen. "Tell me more."

Three weeks later, Anya sat at her desk and smiled. It had taken weeks of research, lots of looking thing up online and finding people to talk to, but she'd finally done it. It wasn't quite front page, but almost. A full page article about what the believe in Sherlock movement was and the many ways in which it was spreading. And she was already receiving mail, questions and queries and theories and, the ones she liked the best, thank yous from other believers. And she said _other _believers because, after writing her article, she now believed in Sherlock too.

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**A/N: **So sorry this chapter took so long! I had really bad writers block, and had to change my original idea a lot. But it's done now, so hope you like it. Only one more chapter to go, and it's a familiar face...


	9. Chapter Eight

John Watson had almost given up reading the newspapers. Every day he would scan through them, searching for an article, no matter how small, that would prove he wasn't the only one who believed in him. In Sherlock. Just reading his name made John want to cry or shoot something. Preferably both. He turned over the last page and prepared to throw the paper onto the ever growing discarded pile, from which many headlines screamed out; none of which John wanted to read. As he took one last flick through, an article caught his eye.

"Believe in Sherlock: Passing fad or shocking truth?" John quickly devoured the text. He could hardly believe what he was reading. He couldn't believe he'd managed to miss it first time, the article took up an entire page. There were photographs, one of four smiling teenagers standing next to three huge posters that appeared to have his, Sherlock's and Moriarty's face on, and another of a poster on a lamppost bearing a picture of Sherlock. The text accompanying the picture explained what John had always believed, that Sherlock wasn't a fraud, the truth about Richard Brook and the rumours that Sherlock was still alive. And, most shockingly to John, it seemed to imply that there was hundreds, if not thousands, of people who believed just as John did.

It told of posters on streets and in shops, graffiti sprayed on old buildings, online communities, secret societies, meetings, events, t-shirts, bags, badges; all the things that people were doing because they believed that Sherlock Holmes really was the man he claimed to be and they cared enough to try and clear his name. John suddenly felt a lump in his throat and had to blink away tears that were threatening to form.

Over the next half hour John read and reread the article again and again, revelling in the knowledge that he wasn't alone. Downstairs, the door slammed, indicating Mrs Hudson's return. A grin spreading across his face, John jumped up and hurried to show her, not realising as he did so that, for the first time since Sherlock, his limp had completely disappeared.

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**A/N: So here it is, the end ;_; I hope it lived up to your expectations, and sorry for those who wanted Mycroft, but I'd planned the whole story right from the start and wanted to come a full circle. Thanks everyone who read, and especially those who reviewed. I love you all :) Look out for more Sherlock stories from me in the future!**


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